


Fifty Words for Murder

by corruptedkid



Series: descend!verse [5]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Notfic, Origin Story, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 05:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corruptedkid/pseuds/corruptedkid
Summary: Killer King's backstory, in not!fic form.





	Fifty Words for Murder

**Author's Note:**

> here it is... the last piece of the narrative that i've so long waited to publish. i was so Frustrated when i realized i wouldn't get the chance to tell this story in descend!! it needs to be read!! killer king tries his best, he's been through so much... love that boy.

Brendon scoops up a handful of sand, watching as the grains sift through his fingers and fall back to the dusty ground. The sun beats down on the back of his neck, and his shirt is damp with sweat. He’s probably dehydrated by this point. It’s been a few hours since he wandered away from the camp. He’ll need to go back soon, but until then, he just wants to sit and think.

“Brendon?” calls a familiar voice. He doesn’t turn around. 

“Brendon!” says the voice, closer this time. Brendon glances up just as New Moon plops down beside him. “Where have you been? Everyone’s looking for you, it’s almost time for the ceremony!”

Brendon mumbles something inaudible.

Moon pokes him in the side. “What?”

“I can’t go to the ceremony,” Brendon says unhappily. “I don’t know what my name’s going to be.” He’s been thinking about it all day, but he still can’t come up with anything good. All the killjoys have such awesome names. He wants to be all their level, but all he can think of is the name he currently bears: Brendon.

Moon’s nose crinkles. “That’s stupid. You _have_ to go! You just need a little help, that’s all.” He sits up straight, suddenly businesslike. “Do you have any ideas at all?” 

Motorbabies get their names at age five. New Moon is six, so he’s already had his for a year. Lucky him. Brendon doesn’t know how he was able to think of it.

“No ideas,” he admits. “But I want it to be shiny.” 

“Shiny doesn’t matter,” Moon says dismissively. “What matters is if it fits you. What stuff do you like?”

Brendon pouts. “You’ve known me forever, you know what I like!”

“But you have to think about it!” Moon insists. “I can’t come up with your name _for_ you.”

“Well… I like music. And glitter. And you,” Brendon says. 

Moon giggles. “You can’t name yourself after me, that’d be dumb. What else? You like to sing, maybe you could use that?”

“I don’t want to name myself after _singing_ ,” Brendon says, rolling his eyes. “ _That_ would be dumb.”

Moon huffs. “Well, you have to think of something. You can’t just sit here in the sunshine forever, you need to get your name!”

“I like the sunshine,” Brendon says defensively. 

Moon tilts his head slightly. For a moment, he just looks at Brendon, then his smile widens. “Brendon! I just had an idea.” He scoots closer to Brendon, ruffling a hand through his hair. “You should name yourself after the sun! That way you can be the sun, and I’ll be the moon!”

Brendon thinks it over for a minute, then grins. “Yeah! I like that.” Matching with New Moon would be awesome. They do everything together - why not this?

“Sunshine,” Brendon says thoughtfully. He tries to think of an adjective to go with it. That’s how most killjoy names work. New Moon, Show Pony, Fun Ghoul… What goes with Sunshine? Bright, hot, warm… 

He lifts his chin, squinting as he stares up into the blue sky. 

“Golden Sunshine,” he decides. “My name’s gonna be Golden Sunshine.”

Moon jumps up. “Come on, then! What are you waiting for? Let’s go make it official!” He sticks out his hand, and Brendon grabs onto it, beaming as he pulls himself up. 

In a few hours’ time, he’ll be Brendon no longer. He remembers New Moon’s ceremony and imagines himself in the middle of it. One of the older ‘joys will hand him a ray gun (an item he’s never been allowed to touch before), and he’ll fire his first-ever shot into the sand. Then they’ll take his hand and lift it high, proclaiming his new identity for all to hear. Everyone will cheer for him. New Moon and Young Veins and Spencer will all be there, and together they’ll run around the camp until they can run no longer. Brendon’s heart pounds with excitement. 

This is where his life as a true killjoy begins.

***

Sunshine is about eight when he and his friends decide to make a band. There are a few instruments that get passed around the camp, and they’ve each latched onto one. Young Veins plays bass, New Moon plays guitar, Green Gentleman taps on everything he can reach as if it’s a drum set, and Sunshine… Well, Sunshine likes all the instruments, but he prefers singing. 

This isn’t to say they’re _good_ at any of their instruments. They’re just kids, after all. They’re decent for their age, and they practice whenever they can, but they’re nowhere near ready to start recording or anything like that.

That doesn’t stop Sunshine from dreaming, of course.

***

Sunshine is twelve when he meets Mr. Sandman. 

Sandman’s crew, the Suitehearts, are a band that’s been steadily gaining popularity for a while. They’re going to be the next big thing, Sunshine can tell. Moon has been a fan of theirs for ages; he goes to the shows, takes notes on their performances, saves up to buy their records, all of it. It’s thanks to Moon that the whole thing gets put together. Sunshine wouldn’t have thought him capable of it, but apparently he grows the balls to approach Sandman after a show and talk to him……. and they hit it off somehow???? Sunshine’s kind of shocked. He knows Moon is a likable guy (he knows that better than anyone), but _Mr. Sandman_. Holy shit. 

After that, Sunshine and his friends just sort of… fall in with the Suitehearts. Sandman likes them, Benzedrine secretly thinks they’re adorable, and Donnie and Horseshoe treat them like kid brothers. The first few times Sunshine hangs out with them, he’s a starstruck, stammering mess. He gets over it, though. He and Sandman end up getting really close. Sunshine would call them best friends, but his best friends are Moon, Veins, and Gentleman. Especially Moon. 

And life is pretty fucking awesome for them.

***

They name their band Panic.

For a while, they just borrow the Suitehearts’ instruments to practice. Then they save up money to buy their own. Then Sandman starts giving them advice while they practice, and it starts to turn into a real thing remarkably quickly. Their first show happens when Sunshine is fourteen, and it’s just a tiny stage in the corner of a bar, but he’s out of his mind with excitement. Despite their age, they’re pretty well-received. The desert always welcomes people who make music. It welcomes music, period. 

Benzedrine catches Sunshine trying to order a shot of acid rain and scolds him within an inch of his life. 

He sends them back to the van, but surprise! Moon snuck out a bottle of… well, they don’t really know what it is, but it smells strong as hell, and that’s all they need. Sunshine takes a swig of it and chokes, but manages to keep it down. Green Gentleman laughs at him, but he ends up coughing his mouthful back into the sand, so Sunshine makes a point of laughing twice as hard.

They all get a little buzzed - they can’t stomach enough to get truly drunk - and they lay in the back of the van, giggling and swapping dumb stories. Sunshine ends up half-sitting on Moon.

Not too much later, they all pass out.

Sunshine wakes up the next morning with his arm wrapped around Moon’s waist. His stomach flips, and he doesn’t think it’s because of the alcohol.

***

After a year of constant writing and shows that get progressively bigger, Sandman proposes that they go on tour. 

Not headlining, of course - they’ll open for the Suitehearts, but who fucking cares about that, it’s a TOUR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Panic is a real band now!!! 

Sunshine spends an hour bouncing off the walls and hugging Sandman at every opportunity before his friends drag him away.

Even after he calms down, there’s a buzz just beneath his skin. Young Veins and Green Gentleman fall asleep sometime after midnight, but Sunshine just _can’t_. They’re touring!!!!!!! They’re doing it!!! Living the dream!!!! He’s imagining a thousand scenes (making jokes between songs as the crowd laughs, maybe sneaking onstage during the Suitehearts’ set to prank them, dancing his heart out, playing music with his best friends) when Moon pokes him.

“You wanna go outside?” he asks. Sunshine nods. He’s got way too much energy to fall asleep; he’d rather walk around. 

They slip out of the motel where they’re shacking up (it’s run-down and half the walls have fallen in, but it’s better than most buildings you can find in this day and age) and walk across the parking lot. They keep walking, heading out into the sand wastes with no particular destination in mind.

They stop after ten minutes, and Sunshine sits down on the ground. Moon sits beside him. His namesake is shining down on them. Under the moonlight, Sunshine can’t help but notice how pretty he looks.

He hasn’t been able to stop noticing, lately.

And he’s pretty sure it’s mutual. 

He and Moon have always been… special. He loves Veins and Gentleman, but not like he loves Moon. Moon is his closest friend, his confidant, his escape. Sunshine doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything more beautiful than the words Moon writes, and the songs they become. He’s just…. aaaaaaaAAAAA!!!!! Sunshine doesn’t know how to describe it, but Moon drives him _nuts_. He keeps hugging Sunshine a little longer than necessary, staring when he thinks Sunshine isn’t looking, and if you squint, some of the things he jokes about can be interpreted as less than platonic. 

Basically, they’re a pair of stupid teenagers with huge, obnoxiously obvious crushes on each other. It’s been going on for years now. Sandman has a betting pool on when they’ll realize their feelings for each other - not that they know that, of course.

(He doesn’t get as many takers as you’d think. Nobody’s stupid enough to bet that there isn’t a spark - it’s only a question of when it turns to flame). 

Sunshine realizes he’s been staring at Moon for way too long, but Moon is staring right back.

Sunshine doesn’t think about what he’s doing as he takes Moon’s face into his hands and kisses him. He doesn’t need to think. Moon just kisses him back, soft and sweet and perfect.

That night, Sunshine gets his first kiss, his second, his third, and loses count shortly after. Every time Moon pulls away to grin, he always comes back to press his lips against Sunshine’s. They eventually head back to the van, but even then, they end up wrapped in each other’s arms. 

Sunshine falls asleep with a smile on his face.

***

Their entire first year of tour is composed of teasing from Sandman, knowing smiles from Benzedrine, and catcalls from everyone else. Sunshine just wants to be left alone, damn it. Left alone with New Moon, more specifically, because they’re a thing now, and it’s great. Except for the fact that they get teased all the time, that kind of sucks. 

It’s cute when Moon blushes, though. 

Maybe it isn’t so bad.

Panic gets more popular as they play more shows. Their biggest following is in Zone 3, but Sunshine wants to be more active in 5 - that’s the biggest party scene. Maybe someday they’ll play at Hyper Thrust. They’ll have to be overage for that, though. There’s only so much you can do as a sixteen-year-old. 

They _are_ doing well, though. They’re making more connections in the music world. Plus, they picked up a pair of kids called Blurryface and Message Man - crazy little shits, but Sunshine loves them. Blurryface is a total weirdo. He and Message are all in for each other, and though their music isn’t that good at this point, it’ll get better. It’ll get a _lot_ better. There’s real passion in those two. 

And if Sunshine maybe sees himself and New Moon in them, well… at least he doesn’t tease them for it.

But he does pitch ten carbons into Sandman’s new betting pool.

And then he grabs New Moon by the hand, yells at everyone to leave them alone, and makes out with him for a good half hour.

Life is so amazing. 

***

It’s funny how mere minutes can change the course of your life.

It’s just a gas run. A fucking _gas run_. Sunshine’s in the front seat, singing along to the radio (something by the Fabulous Killjoys, he loves those guys. Fun Ghoul can be a bit of a dick, and Kobra Kid’s got wit sharp enough to kill a man, but they’re a good bunch. Poison was super chill with Sunshine the few times they met.)

Veins is smoking up in the back seat, and the whole car smells like weed thanks to him, but Sunshine doesn’t care. As long as Veins isn’t driving, it’s not an issue. Besides, he’d be a hypocrite to tell him to stop, because he’s smoked in the car more times than he can count. 

Green Gentleman’s tapping on the back of his headrest, making little _psssh_ noises for cymbal crashes. God, Sunshine loves Gentleman. What a nerd.

And Moon is sitting on the passenger side, his feet kicked up on the dashboard. He’s staring out the window, head bopping slightly to the tempo of the song. Sunshine smiles at him as he pulls the car up to the station.

He turns the keys and the roar of the engine cuts off. As he hops out, he keeps whistling the tune from the radio, and there’s a bit of a skip to his step. He even breaks out a few dance moves, getting into it with a little twirl and shake of his hips. 

Gentleman opens the side door and gives him an affectionate shove as he steps out. “I’m gonna get us waters, be right back.” Sunshine nods in response, then turns it into a body roll as Gentleman heads toward the little convenience store. He can hear Veins laughing at him from inside the car. He doesn’t care; they all suck at dancing compared to him.

It’s just a perfectly normal day.

Until the sound of gunfire rips through the air. 

Sunshine hears Gentleman shout, then he’s tearing out of the store and towards the car. “Fucking drive!” he yells, and Sunshine doesn’t think before tossing the gas pump to the side and jumping into the front seat. He can see a pair of dracs in the store now; they must have been hiding, waiting out for a group of unsuspecting killjoys to stop by.

Gentleman is two feet from the car when he cries out and falls to the ground.

Veins is out the door before Sunshine even realizes what’s happening. He grabs Gentleman’s arms, earning a second shout of pain that makes Sunshine’s stomach churn, and all but drags him into the car. Sunshine can’t think. He can’t breathe. Veins eases Gentleman face-down down onto the floor. A patch of his shirt has been burnt away, revealing the bright red, blistered skin beneath. 

“Oh, fuck,” says Veins.

Sunshine can’t take his eyes away from Gentleman’s back. He feels sick. It’s not like none of them have been shot before - they all have - but that was a direct hit.

“Well?” Veins demands, turning his gaze to Sunshine. “Fucking _drive_ , idiot!”

Sunshine’s brain finally starts working again. He slams his foot down on the gas, only to immediately hit the brakes again - a white van is pulling up directly in front of them. There’s a drac in the front seat, its white mask and bloody mouth visible through the windshield. The van isn’t stopping. It’s gaining speed, heading right for them, and there’s no way to dodge it now.

“Out!” Moon yells, and Sunshine throws the door open.

He tries not to listen to the way Gentleman screams as Veins tugs him to safety. 

But this isn’t safety, not really. They barely make it out before the van smashes into their car, and then they’re headed directly into the line of fire: the dracs from the convenience store have stepped out and are shooting right at them. 

“Sandman!” Veins yells, and Sunshine is confused for a minute before he recognizes the communicator in Veins’ hand. “Powertrip station, Zone 4, get here _now_! Gentleman’s hurt!” It’s the loudest Sunshine’s ever heard him. He drops the communicator and draws his gun, pushing Sunshine out of the way and running toward the dracs. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sunshine shouts after him. 

Veins dodges a few shots and returns them in kind; one of the dracs falls. Sunshine flicks the safety off on his gun, feeling like an idiot for not having drawn it yet, and aims at the other drac’s head. It collapses instantly, and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

There’s no time for recovery, though. Moon is already firing at the dracs in the van. They haven’t stepped out yet, but it’s only a matter of time. It’s the four of them - three, really, with Gentleman injured - against a van that could hold up to six dracs, and their getaway vehicle is out of commission. 

The next shot comes out of nowhere. 

It catches Veins in the head, and he drops like a puppet with cut strings. 

Sunshine’s heart stops beating. 

“ _Jon_!” Moon screams. He runs for Young Veins, not even bothering to dodge the zaps flying through the air, and falls to his knees. Sunshine sees him cup Veins’ head, cradling it gently; he searches for a pulse in his neck. 

This can’t be happening.

“Are you an idiot?” Gentleman groans. He’s half-sitting, half-lying on the ground nearby and glaring at Sunshine. “There are more of them inside! Quit standing around and get them!”

Sunshine turns toward the convenience store, slightly dazed. Sure enough, there’s another drac visible in the doorway. There could be more hidden. 

Moon is shouting at Veins, but Sunshine doesn’t really hear. 

He raises his gun to fire at the dracs, his finger squeezing the trigger automatically. Luckily, he’s a good shot, and he hits one of them on his second try. Right between the eyes. He should be celebrating, but all he can focus on is the roar of blood in his ears, the frantic pounding of his own heart. 

He’s completely exposed, standing in the middle of the gas station. 

They all are. 

Gentleman is in the worst position - he can’t defend himself or dodge the way Sunshine and Moon can. It shouldn’t be a surprise when the zaps rip through him, but each one is like a blow to Sunshine’s skull. 

Moon is standing again, his blaster raised. Veins is still on the ground. 

Two against… how many dracs are there? Sunshine has lost count. 

However many it is, it’s too many. 

He fires blindly, taking out as many as he can. He actually does pretty well - after a minute, the odds look more even. Moon shouts something, and for a second Sunshine wants to cry, thinking he’s been hit - but no. He’s smiling, pointing down the road.

Sunshine follows his gaze and sees a cloud of dust in the distance. It’s a car, coming closer every second. Sandman. It’s got to be. 

Sunshine and Moon scrape by for another few minutes until the car pulls up. Sandman tumbles out with his crew, and just like that, it’s an even fight. Sunshine should feel relieved. 

Horseshoe Crab kneels beside Gentleman, pressing two fingers to his neck.

Sunshine should feel upset. 

But everything is still happening too fast. It’s a blur of gunfire and motion, with his rapid heartbeat as accompaniment. 

His senses are hazy until he sees Moon surrounded by three dracs.

And just like that, he snaps back to himself. How the fuck did _that_ happen? He looks around, and it makes a little more sense; Sandman’s down for the count. Not dead, he doesn’t think, but unconscious. Benzedrine is hovering over him, and though Horseshoe is running for Moon, he keeps glancing back to his fallen crewmate.

They protect their own. They’re only human. 

But so is Sunshine, and he’s not watching his best friend die. 

He sprints toward Moon, fully prepared to physically launch himself at the dracs or something equally stupid, but Donnie trips him, and he goes sprawling. He hits the ground hard. When he looks up, he expects to see Moon’s last moments.

Instead, he sees the dracs pulling him into the back of the van.

His eyes are wide, and he reaches out toward Sunshine. “ _Brendon_!”

Then the doors slam shut.

Sunshine won’t see him again for a long time.

***

After Sunshine loses his crew, he’s a mess. He leaves the Suitehearts and goes back to his old village. They try to stop him, and he loves them, he really does, but he just can’t be around them right now. He needs to go home.

Except it doesn’t feel like home anymore. 

He doesn’t have anyone left there. He never knew his parents, Jon’s parents have moved to a different village, and Ryan’s parents got dusted a while back. The only person left is Spencer’s mom. She takes him in for a while, but it’s hard to shelter your son’s best friend when your son is dead.

She does an admirable job, but Sunshine can’t stay.

This isn’t his life anymore. He’s not the same kid who started a band on a whim, who kissed his best friend under the moonlight, who danced at that gas station. That’s not him. He’s not Golden Sunshine anymore. The name feels alien; wrong. 

So he leaves. 

He bounces back and forth across the zones, never really settling anywhere. He cuts his hair. He changes his style - no more flowers and button-ups. That’s kid stuff. He likes jackets best - preferably sparkly ones, or black leather, or the occasional velvet.

He’s a loner now, with no crew to his name. That’s fine. He wants it that way. The only people he’d want by his side are ghosted, and he works well enough by himself. He survives. After a while, he even starts feeling normal again.

Not the same as before, but normal. 

The numbness fades. He starts smiling more; laughing, even. There are times when he’d call himself truly happy.

But the guilt never goes away.

At first, he blamed the Suitehearts. They could’ve done more to save Ryan. But that changes quickly enough, and he starts blaming himself instead. He was Panic’s leader. He should’ve been able to protect them. 

He starts calling himself Killer King.

***

Killer falls into tumbleweed work fairly easily. It just sort of… happens. One minute he’s bartering what he can to survive, wandering around aimlessly, then he realizes that he’s following paths of his own creation, trade routes that stretch all across the zones. 

He starts working in the city, too. 

In general, tumbleweeds tend to be a slimy bunch. They’re not dishonest, per se, but they’re exceptionally good at finding loopholes. Killer doesn’t like that. If he’s gonna do business, he’s gonna do it honestly. 

It makes his job a hell of a lot harder in the beginning, but once he gets a reputation for good deals, he does well. He makes connections - crews, well-known desert figures, even faction leaders in the city. He does a lot of runs for this chick named Crybaby. She’s weird, but she pays well, and she has tricks up her sleeve that she’s willing to teach, and he values that above all else. 

Killer is constantly trying to learn new skills. He figures if he’s good at everything, then he has no weaknesses, and if he has no weaknesses, no one can hurt him.

Ever since the loss of his crew, he’s felt like he was speeding toward a collision with no way to hit the brakes.

All he wants to do is feel in control again.

***

In the city, Killer hears about these things called rehabilitation centers.

That’s where they must have taken Ryan. It has to be. It could just be wishful thinking, of course, but Killer will take any leads he can get. He starts poking around, seeing what he can find out. He learns the tricks of sneaking around BLi’s highest-security areas. He even finds info on how their medications work.

Someday soon, he’ll find Moon and get him the hell out of this place. 

***

One day, Killer’s making his way across the city when he spies a face that’s a little too familiar.

He’s walking with a group, dressed all in white, and he’s paler than he should be. But it’s definitely him.

Sandman. 

Pete.

It’s been ages since they’ve seen each other. Killer’s surprised by the force of his reaction - all of a sudden, he wants to sprint toward Sandman and hug the shit out of him. But he has to contain himself.

He follows Sandman’s group, and they finally come to a place that’s marked as the “Third Eye Center for Rehabilitation.”

Huh.

Killer makes a note of the location and vows to come back soon.

***

He does come back soon. In fact, it’s only a few days before his resolve breaks and he gets Sandman alone. The second they make eye contact, Sandman’s eyes go wide, and he flings himself into Killer’s arms.

“Sunshine,” he says, choked with emotion. “God, you have _no fucking idea_ how good it is to see you.”

Killer pats him on the back. “It’s Killer King now. But I’m glad to see you too.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re doing tumbleweed shit now, right?” Sandman shakes himself. “Nevermind. Look, I don’t know where the hell my crew is. I’m in this fuckin’ rehab place, they keep trying to brainwash me or something. Blurryface is there too. A _lot_ of killjoys are there, actually, but it’s like I’m the only one who knows what’s going on.”

Killer nods. “They’re trying to erase the killjoys and turn them into regular citizens.”

“Yeah. But that’s not the point - Killer, I need to find my family. And… and so do you.” He grips Killer’s shoulders tightly. “They’ve got Ryan.”

“ _What_?”

Killer’s voice is way too loud. He clamps a hand over his mouth, but his heart is racing. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. After all this time he’s been searching, he’s finally found him.

He pulls Sandman back into a hug, tighter this time, and Sandman doesn’t say a thing when he starts to cry. 

***

They become a team after that. They’re both desperate, so they cling to each other for all they’re worth. Sandman constantly beats himself up for letting Benzedrine get kidnapped. When he’s not drowning in guilt, he’s panicking, thinking he’ll never find his family. Killer talks him out of it. In return, Sandman tells him all about how Ryan’s doing. 

He’s still got tumbleweed duties, but for the first time in ages, he puts them on the back burner. He starts searching the city for any sign of Benzedrine, Donnie, or Horseshoe Crab.

He wants to find them, and he wants to help Sandman, but he also wants to distract himself from the heart-wrenching knowledge that Ryan is _so close_ , but for now, untouchable.

Apparently, Ryan doesn’t remember anything.

All the patients are amnesiacs, and the security at the Third Eye is too high for Killer to break in. So he focuses his energy elsewhere, filling his mind with thoughts of the Suitehearts instead of Panic. 

Sandman’s enough of a mess that it actually works. Once, he confesses that he wishes BLi’s pills really worked on him, so he wouldn’t have to feel like such shit all the time. It’s sobering to hear. Killer holds him tight, and they breathe through it together. 

It’s the first time since Panic that he doesn’t feel alone.

It’s the first time he doesn’t want to be.

***

The day they finally bring Ryan out of the Third Eye, Killer is so excited, he’s bouncing. He feels _hopeful_ , he feels _alive_. It’s awesome. Ryan’s gonna be here!!! He won’t remember anything at first, but Killer is confident that that can be fixed. Everything will be okay. 

Sandman leads Ryan into an alley where Killer is waiting, and it’s all he can do to not burst into tears on the spot. Ryan looks different - he’s not wearing makeup, his clothes are all wrong, and his hair is flat instead of tufted up - but he’s unmistakably Ryan. 

“Hi,” Killer says softly. 

“Hi,” Ryan says uncertainly. “Uh… Pete, who is this?”

And, _ouch_. Killer had thought he was prepared, but that fucking hurt. 

They tell Ryan about his old life, his old name, his old best friend/boyfriend/long lost love: Killer King. At first, Ryan looks scared, then disbelieving, and then there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. Killer’s heart leaps. He keeps going, explaining how long he’s been searching, and Ryan’s hands are shaking. He think it’s adrenaline. Excitement. Something good.

It’s not. 

It’s a panic attack like Killer’s never fucking seen. More of a seizure, really. He and Sandman both have to hold Ryan down as his whole body shakes, and he thrashes his head back and forth. Killer has one hand clamped over his mouth to muffle his screaming. And it _hurts_ , oh God, it hurts to watch. Killer has no idea what’s going on. The only thought running through his head is that he’s fucked it up again; Ryan is hurt because of him.

And then it stops.

Ryan’s eyes are glazed over.

“Ryan?” Killer whispers. His heart is in his throat.

Ryan doesn’t respond. 

***

“Hear me out,” says Sandman. “There are tons of killjoys in this city who’ve lost their memories. I’m the only person _inside_ a rehab center who knows what’s going on. You might be the only person outside who cares enough and has the skills to help -”

“No,” says Killer.

Sandman sighs. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“I know what you’re going to say, and my answer is no,” Killer says flatly.

“We could _save_ them, Killer.”

“No, we couldn’t. Do you not remember what happened the last time we tried that?”

“It wouldn’t be like that,” Sandman says gently. “We’re prepared now, we can take it slow -”

“I said _no_ ,” Killer snaps. “What the hell do you mean, we’re prepared? We still don’t know shit! I broke one killjoy, I’m not breaking the rest. You want Blurryface to lose his mind? Huh? We wouldn’t be saving them, we’d be damning them. I’m not taking that risk.”

“But we have to at least _try_ ,” Sandman argues. “Don’t we owe them that?”

“Not if it could make the situation worse!”

The fight drags on for weeks. Killer and Sandman are completely at odds, and they both refuse to budge. After a while, Sandman stops talking about it. 

***

Sandman doesn’t panic as often as he used to, but it still happens. 

That’s one of the reasons Killer installed their little mirror system. Sandman can’t leave the Third Eye at night, so if he’s having a rough time, he turns his mirror on and shoots Killer a message. There’s one night when it’s particularly bad.

_I’m never going to see them again,_ his message reads. 

Killer shakes his head. He starts typing out a response on his mini-computer, but another message pops up before he can finish.

_It’s just a feeling I have. Like… Do you ever feel like there’s a shadow over you? It’s how I felt the day I got separated from Benzedrine. I knew something was going to go wrong that day._

Killer types as quickly as he can.

_Paranoia, Sandman. That’s what that feeling is called._

_But it’s not, though,_ Sandman replies. _It’s just realism. I probably won’t find them, you know?_

_You found me_ , Killer types. 

_That was luck._

Killer sighs. Sandman can be really stubborn in his pessimism. _Who says you won’t get lucky again? Besides, I’m gonna find them for you. I promise._

There’s a long pause.

_If you did, it’d be a miracle. I’d be in your debt for… pretty much forever._

Killer smiles. _Call me a miracle worker, then. How about this: you find a way to fix Ryan, and I find the Suitehearts. We’ll call it even._

Another pause.

_That sounds okay._

Killer snorts. _It’s better than okay, it’s a good deal. I won’t give up on Benzedrine. You know that, right? Just promise me you’ll do the same._

_I promise,_ Sandman responds. 

It’s the last message Killer receives that night.

***

Everything changes when Sandman suddenly asks him to meet up. 

Killer doesn’t think anything of it at first. He saunters into the alley, greeting Sandman as usual, and finally turns his gaze to the guy Sandman brought with him.

He has to do a double take. 

The biggest difference is the hair - jeez, seeing him blond is weird - and he holds himself differently, with less confidence and more anxiety, but it’s happening again. Killer is standing in front of a familiar face with a BLi makeover. 

And this one is special. 

“Holy shit,” he says out loud, hardly daring to believe it. “Par -”

“Shut up,” Sandman says sharply. “You know how it works.”

Right. Of course. They _really_ can’t afford to break this one.

_Party Poison_. 

All at once, Killer’s worldview flips upside down. He didn’t expect this to happen. Poison is… well, he’s probably the most well-known killjoy out there, and for good reason. He’s got way more spirit than the average runner. If anybody could withstand remembering their past, it’d be him.

Killer nods. “Right, right. Of course. But…” He hesitates. “Shit, man, whatever you want me to do, that’s it. I’m in.”

His cards are on table. He can only hope it’s a good play.

“Um,” says Poison. “What exactly just happened?” He looks so confused, Killer almost laughs. 

“Nothing,” Sandman says quickly. “Gerard, this is Killer King. Killer, this is Gerard.” At that, Killer _really_ has to hold back a laugh, because HOLY FUCK THAT’S A DORK NAME. He can’t even believe it. It’s too funny. The biggest badass in the zones, and his name is _Gerard_.

“Killer King?” Poison - no, Gerard - questions. He has a far-off look in his eyes. “This might be a weird question,” he says slowly, “But do I know you?”

_Oh yes, you do_ , Killer wants to say. _I’ve opened for you. You said you liked by band’s aesthetic. I caught you making out with your boyfriend backstage and didn’t let it go for weeks. You once called me a hyperactive little shithead. You and I, we go way back._

Instead, he recalls one of his own lyrics, and he grins.

“Well, Gerard… Let’s just say you remind me of a few of my famous friends.”

Gerard doesn’t get the joke, but inside, Killer’s cracking up. 

***

Killer knows something’s wrong when he sees a line of BLi trucks speeding in the direction of the Third Eye. 

Up until now, things have been going smoothly. Well… pretty smoothly. His supplies are super strained; BLi pills are fucking _expensive_. He has to sell a shit ton of weed and Power Pup to get even one batch. The system won’t last forever, but he’s making it work. They’ve been lucky so far. 

It looks like that lucky streak might be over.

Killer checks his pockets. He makes a point of always having a gun on hand, and he’s got a couple grenades of decent strength packed away, too. It’s… _definitely_ not a safe habit, but it’s saved his life on multiple occasions, so he isn’t too concerned. 

He’s got a gut feeling saying something about to go very wrong.

He sprints after the trucks, and his suspicions are confirmed: they’re headed right for the Third Eye. They stop in front of it, and dracs pour out. Killer thinks he spies a few scarecrows in the mix. They all run into the building. 

Killer sneaks up close so he can see through the glass windows, then waits in the shadows.

There’s a woman standing in the lobby. Killer doesn’t recognize her, but she gives him a bad feeling. Sandman, Poison, and a couple others come stumbling into view a few minutes later. Poison exchanges a few words with her, his expression hard with anger.

Killer starts creeping toward the door. One drac notices him, and he shoots it before easing the door open. 

“Like I said, nothing gets past me,” the woman is saying.

Ha.

“What about this?” Killer shouts. He backs up a few paces and draws a grenade from his pocket, ripping out the pin and throwing it into the window as hard as he can. It’s a special kind designed for diversions; the moment it’s set off, it starts pouring smoke, and the air is soon filled with a thick cloud of it. It’s impossible to see through.

“Sandman?” Killer calls. 

A voice responds from within the smoky room. “Killer! We’re here, keep talking!”

Killer steps inside and waves his hand around, trying in vain to clear the air. “Come on, let’s get you guys out of here,” he says. They hadn’t imagined the escape would happen so soon, but they’d known it would eventually, and Killer has a plan. “We’ll head straight for the subways. Grab onto each other, I’ll lead you.”

They make their way out of the building and a ways down the street. Killer glances over his shoulder as he jogs, doing a quick head count. “Okay,” he pants. “Sandman, Poison, Blurryface…” He almost says ‘Disaster Boy,’ but corrects himself when he realizes Gabe still doesn’t have his memories back. “Gabe, and Bob…” He scans over the group.

That’s it.

How can that be it?

He stops running.

“Wait, what? Where are the others, are they still inside?” he asks. They can’t be. Sandman wouldn’t do that to them; to _him_.

“There was no time,” Sandman says shortly. “Let’s keep moving.”

“No, no, wait,” Killer says. The shock and fury are fighting for control, but he keeps his tone limited to one of disbelief. “Where’s Scarlet? And Believer and Lazarus and White Noise, are you just going to leave them?”

A flicker of guilt crosses Sandman’s face.

And just like that, the fury takes over. 

“Oh, Sandman,” Killer says softly. “Tell me you fucking didn’t.”

“There was no _time_ ,” Sandman repeats, as if that makes a fucking difference. “We can’t stay here, Killer, we have to keep - ”

“Tell me you didn’t fucking leave him behind,” Killer orders. “Tell me.” He wants it to be true, but he knows it’s not. Ryan isn’t there. He’s still trapped, and Sandman didn’t do a thing to help. 

“I had to,” Sandman whispers.

“Oh, really?” Killer hisses, taking a step towards him. He’s so mad, he can’t see straight. Sandman is his _best friend_. He _knows_ how much Ryan means to him, but he still did nothing. He left Ryan for dead. After all he and Killer have been through, he would abandon the one objective that kept Killer going. “Why does that not surprise me? Of course you grabbed your little friends first, but not the one person I specifically asked you to save.” The words pour out on their own; it’s beyond his control. He’s too angry. He’s practically shaking with it. “God _damn_ it, Pete, we had a _deal_ \- ”

“The dracs would’ve caught us all if I’d tried to go all the way up to his floor!” Sandman argues.

“Bullshit,” Killer spits. Deep down, Sandman’s words ring true, but he can’t give a shit right now. 

“I would never - “

“Where the _fuck_ is Ryan, Sandman?” Killer shouts. He pushes Sandman back. “Are you just gonna leave him in there? Huh? I said it once before, I’ll say it again; now that you’ve escaped, they’re gonna double up on security. When the hell am I gonna get a chance like this again? Never!” His chest tightens as he shoves Sandman again. It’s not enough. He wants to punch him in the fucking face, make him hurt, make him see what he’s _done_. There will never be another chance. This could mark the day he loses Ryan for good. 

“You made me a fucking promise, and you broke it,” he seethes. “Don’t ask for my help again. Fuck you, Pete.”

“But - “

“I said, _don’t_.” Killer scowls, and he makes a decision on the spot. “Good luck finding Benzedrine. Maybe in a while, you’ll understand how it feels when someone could help you, but they choose not to.”

“Don’t do this,” Sandman begs. Ha. That’s what Killer has reduced him to with only a few words. “Brendon, I swear, I never would’ve done it if I didn’t have to. I’ll help you get him back. Please. Don’t walk away now, we need you!”

“I know,” Killer says. And it’s true. The patients are practically nothing without him. He’s their outside source, their supplier, their way out when everything goes to shit. But you know what? He’s tired of it. Sandman is so obsessed with this project, he never even says thank you anymore. 

Killer can put up with a lot, but not this. 

“There’s still so much I could do for you,” he says. “But I only work with killjoys.” He backs away. “Killjoys don’t break promises.”

“Brendon,” Sandman says weakly.

“Pete,” Killer says. “I’m sorry.” It’s only half-true. “But you never should’ve taken me for granted.”

“I never took you for granted,” Sandman tries. “I did everything I could!”

Killer ignores him. “You know the way to Crybaby’s. I told her to expect you, she shouldn’t be surprised.” He brushes the dust off his sleeves. This isn’t his business anymore. “Goodbye, Pete.”

He turns and walks away.

He promised Sandman that he wouldn’t give up on Benzedrine and the Suitehearts. A lesser man than him would break that promise; Sandman had double-crossed him, why shouldn’t he do the same?

But Killer’s not going to break his promise. This isn’t giving up.

It’s punishment. 

***

Killer doesn’t speak to Sandman for weeks. He doesn’t visit Crybaby’s faction at all. Instead, he does everything he can to distract himself from the fact that he may never see Ryan again.

His go-to distraction is the search for Benzedrine, so… that’s what he does. 

It goes about as well as usual, which is to say that he finds nothing. But it’s something to do, at least. 

Ironically enough, he finds his first clue when he doesn’t even mean to.

He’s walking down the street, keeping a close eye on the pair of dracs ahead of him, when he hears one of them speak. It says something about “Project Youngblood.” Killer runs the phrase through his head to see if it rings any bells. It doesn’t.

But then one of them says the name “Stump,” and he almost trips and faceplants into the sidewalk.

He follows them across the city until they lead him to the one place he hasn’t looked: Linda Vista. Oh fuck.

Then he shoots both of them and goes tearing off toward the subway system.

***

The reunion is… awkward, to say the least. Sandman looks like he wants to apologize, but Killer stops him before he can. “Listen, I don’t care. It’s in the past. I’ve got more important news: I might’ve found Benzedrine.”

Sandman stares at him for a solid thirty seconds. 

“You’re serious,” he says. 

“Yep,” says Killer. 

Sandman flings himself into Killer’s arms, all tension forgotten, and squeezes the shit out of him. “Thank you,” he says. “Oh my God - Brendon! Thank you!” He’s giddy with excitement. He even tries to pick Killer up a little, but Killer pulls away. He hates to be the bearer of bad news, but…

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. There’s really no way to talk around this, so he decides to be blunt. “He’s in Linda Vista.”

Sandman’s face falls, and Killer nods grimly.

They’ve got a big job ahead of them.

***

The rescue mission is nothing short of a disaster. 

Afterwards, Poison disappears into his room with Fun Ghoul and doesn’t come out for days. Killer feels like shit. What is he supposed to say? “Sorry for killing your best friends” isn’t enough, and “At least they were already dead” just feels wrong. 

He lets Ghoul handle it. He might not remember Poison, but he seems to know what to do anyway. Muscle memory, Killer supposes. 

Those two sure make for an odd couple.

But Poison is the least of his problems. The second word gets out that Crybaby is dead, the juviehalls are clamoring for a new leader. New Americana steps in, but she makes it clear that she can’t stay, and after her third day running the faction, she corners Killer.

“It’s got to be you,” she informs him.

What follows is a lengthy, _lengthy_ argument. Apparently, Killer’s pretty popular within the faction, and given that he’s been so heavily involved in faction affairs as of late, people trust him. Americana thinks he’d be a good leader. 

He couldn’t disagree more.

The last time he’d been a leader, his family had gotten ripped apart. And that was with his _family_ \- who knows what’ll happen if he’s entrusted with the well-being of strangers? He can’t handle that. This whole situation is making him nervous in a way he hasn’t been for years. He’s only nineteen, for fuck’s sake, and he’s not exactly stable. He doesn’t trust himself in a position of authority!! Why does no one get that!!!

Americana will have none of it. 

Killer doesn’t know how - drugs may have been involved, he thinks - but she convinces him.

And so Killer King becomes the leader of a Battery City faction. Yet another life path he never would’ve seen coming.

***

At first, Sandman is the one who keeps Killer sane. Everyone is expecting things of him - well, okay, nobody is expecting _that_ much, but he has _fears_ , and they’re telling him that he is going to FAIL and everyone will get HURT and it will be TERRIBLE.

At first, his fears are irrational.

And then things start going downhill.

It starts when Benzedrine asks to meet with him in private. He sits down in a chair across from Killer’s desk - having a desk is fucking weird, he’s not sure if he likes it - and takes a deep breath. 

“When are we going to talk about me?” he asks.

Killer is silent. It’s a topic he’s been trying his best to avoid, but it’s eating away at the back of his brain. 

The truth is, Benzedrine is dangerous. That’s just a simple fact. There’s some kind of… _thing_ in his head, and Killer watched it smash a woman’s skull into the ground until it was forcibly stopped. He calls the thing ‘it’ because it’s not Benzedrine; Benzedrine would never do something like that. But even though the monster is the one that’s truly murderous, Benzedrine is just as dangerous, because they share a body and Benzedrine isn’t always the one in control.

Simple stuff.

Sandman doesn’t see it that way, though. That’s why Killer’s been trying to prolong this conversation. 

“I can’t be walking around in public like this,” Benzedrine says firmly. “You need to… have someone watch me or something, I don’t know. This isn’t safe. It’s not a predictable thing; I don’t know when I could lose control.”

Killer taps his fingers against the table, looking at them instead of Benzedrine. “Sandman will kill me.”

“I know. But this isn’t just about him, it’s about everyone. I don’t want to hurt anybody.” Benzedrine sounds truly miserable. 

Killer sighs. “Well, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

The conversation drags on for a long time. Benzedrine is willing to do anything; Killer is the one who hesitates. This is a high-stakes game. It goes beyond friendships and arguments. This is a situation in which he has no idea what’s wrong and what’s right - and that terrifies him.

This is why he didn’t want to be a leader. 

It’s with a sinking feeling that he leads Benzedrine to the quarantine room. He can only hope he’s made the right choice.

***

He made the wrong choice. 

He knows that as soon as Sandman finds out. That man might be small, but if you fuck with Benzedrine, he’s a force to be reckoned with. Killer wonders if he’ll go deaf from all the shouting. And after the shouting, of course, comes the silence, and that’s almost worse. Sandman refuses to even look at him. Killer is suddenly without the support he’d been depending on, and he feels like he’s drowning. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. An apology isn’t enough. 

God, he’s an idiot.

***

“Can I tell you something?” Benzedrine asks. He’s sitting on the floor a few feet from the glass wall that keeps him cut off from the world.

Killer nods tiredly. He’s glad he got to come in here; lately, Sandman hasn’t been leaving Benzedrine alone, which kind of sucks because he’s the only person not treating Killer like the scum of the earth. 

“When I was in Linda Vista,” Benzedrine says slowly, “I heard things, sometimes. About Project Youngblood. Or about the city in general.”

Killer waits for him to go on. 

“One time, I heard Addy talking about… about a rehab center. The Crystal Ball, I think. It wasn’t that long ago.”

Killer sits up straight. That name rings a bell. “Isn’t that the one Fun Ghoul came from?”

Benzedrine shrugs. “Maybe. Don’t ask me. But she was talking about increasing the security, like she was waiting for something. And there was other stuff, too. Sometimes she talked about Crybaby.”

Killer’s eyes narrowed. “That’s… weird.”

“I know,” said Benzedrine. “It was like she knew what was going on inside the faction.” He looks right up at Killer King, blue eyes wide with concern, and Killer knows what he’s getting at.

“You think there’s a spy.”

Benzedrine nods almost imperceptibly.

Well.

Fuck.

***

“So,” Poison says, his voice forcedly pleasant. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Killer really should have seen this coming. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s best to start with that. If Poison’s done grieving, he must be pretty pissed off. Killer mentally prepares himself for another round of getting screamed at.

“I don’t give a shit,” says Poison. “Answer my question.” Yeah, he’s pissed. 

Killer retreats to his desk, sitting on the edge and looking nervously up at Poison. He’s tried to prepare the right words for this moment, but he’s still got nothing. “There was no other way,” he says. “They were going to shoot you, and when Benzedrine told me they were just puppets - “

“This isn’t about Jet and Kobra,” Poison snaps.

Wait, what?

“God knows I could fuck you up for what you did to them, but it’s in the past. They’re dead. Have been for a long time. I’m not about to forget them, but I can’t waste my time mourning when there are more pressing things to deal with, like the way you _locked up a killjoy_.”

Killer swallows hard. “Oh.” Sandman must have told him everything. _Fuck_. 

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Poison spits. Killer winces. Poison’s temper can be fucking scary, and he was feeling shitty enough before it was turned on him. He wants to crawl under his desk and hide, but instead, he tries to make a case for himself. 

“No,” he says quickly. “No. You don’t know how fucking hard it is to be in this position, Poison. I love Benzedrine, he’s like my brother, okay? But he agreed to it, and if there’s any chance he could hurt someone -”

“Hold the fuck up,” says Sandman. “We don’t know how hard it is?”

Killer instantly knows he’s fucked up. “I - “

“You’re the one who stayed behind in the base where it was safe while Crybaby went out to die,” Sandman says furiously. “You’re the one who stepped into her place as soon as it was available. You’re the one who chose to do this, and you fucked it up, and now you’re trying to say it’s okay just because you were under pressure? Fuck that! You don’t know anything about pressure!”

Killer scowls against his will. “I didn’t choose this. You know me better than that, Pete, you know I’ve never wanted to be a leader.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I didn’t see you turning down the job offer, so it kinda seems like you did,” Sandman says bluntly.

Killer’s eyes go wide. He knows Sandman’s trying to pick a fight, and the lengths he’ll go to do it shouldn’t be surprising at this point, but it catches him off guard to hear his best friend talking to him like that. “I couldn’t have turned it down! Americana has to take care of her own faction, and Crybaby never trained a successor, so I’m the best-qualified person here. Besides, I’m one of the only people who knows what’s actually going on when it comes to the rehab centers. I couldn’t just stand by.” He figures that sounds better than _Americana forced me into it_.

Poison shakes his head. “That’s all well and good, but it doesn’t have anything to do with Benzedrine. You put him in a cage!” He jabs a finger at Killer. “A cage, Killer. In what fucking world is that okay?”

“He agreed with me,” Killer says wearily. “He said it was the best idea, just to make sure everyone is safe - "

“I don’t care!”

“Well, I do!” Killer snaps. He’s fucking sick of this. All he can do is mess up, and then when he tries to explain himself, everyone starts jumping down his throat. “This is why I didn’t want to lead the faction! I can’t handle shit like this. As soon as we find a way to get Ryan out of the Third Eye, I’m gone, seriously. I’ll find someone else to replace me, train them up, whatever they need, I just… I’m not staying here.” As soon as he says it, he knows it’s true. Responsibilities be damned, he wants out.  
Sandman stares at him.

“You’re so goddamn selfish,” he says.

Killer exhales hard, reminding himself that Sandman just wants to get a rise out of him. “I’m not selfish,” he says. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for everyone.” It’s only half true. He _is_ being selfish, he knows it, but the faction will be better off once he’s gone.

“Are you kidding?” Sandman shouts. “You took the position. You can’t just back out once you’ve got what you want! You stepped up, you said you’d be a leader, so lead. This isn’t only about you. You can’t run forever, Brendon!”

How fucking dare he.

“I’m not running.” Killer glares at Sandman as hard as he can. “I’ll only fuck things up worse if I stick around. That’s the truth, and you know it.”

“You’re a coward,” Sandman says.

Killer opens his mouth to retort, then closes it, deflating.

Sandman isn’t exactly wrong.

“There’s too much at stake here,” Killer says quietly. “Benz said… He said there was a spy, okay? There’s somebody in the compound feeding information to Doctor Addy. If everything was normal, I might find a way to make it work, I dunno. But this isn’t normal. I can’t be the head of a faction if that means protecting Benzedrine, protecting everyone else from him, fighting with my best friends, and trying to find a spy when I might end up suspecting the wrong person. I can’t.”

He’s hoping against hope that Sandman will understand, but he just shakes his head. “There is no normal,” he says. “Being a leader is always fucking hard. If you’re that scared of it, you never should have accepted the offer. We would’ve been better off with no one in charge than with you.”

He turns and stalks out of the room.

Killer stares after him, his chest tightening painfully. He’s been under the impression that Sandman will eventually forgive him, but… maybe he won’t. Maybe they’re over. The idea makes him feel sick.

Pete pokes his head back into the room. Killer’s heart lifts -

“By the way,” he says. “They would’ve hated you for this.”

Killer’s heart plunges back into his stomach, and Sandman disappears back into the hall.

He guesses they aren’t friends anymore, then. Young Veins and Green Gentleman are… they’re untouchable. Maybe Sandman hadn’t wanted to pick a fight after all. He had just wanted Killer to hurt.

Then Poison throws in his two cents, because apparently this is everyone-hates-killer-king day.

“Pete’s right,” he says, not looking at Killer. “You can fix your mistakes, or you can run from them. Get your shit together, you asshole, and stop making things worse.”

He walks out, and Fun Ghoul follows him.

Killer lays his head on his desk and wishes to disappear.

***

It was Bob.

Bob fucking Bryar. Killer hadn’t been very close with him - he’d been indifferent, to tell the truth - but all of a sudden, he hates that name, and he’d be punching Bob in the fucking teeth right now if Brobeck wasn’t holding him back.

Bob had been giving BLi information. He had been the reason they’d had to evacuate the Third Eye early. He’s the reason Ryan was left behind, and that’s _unforgivable_.

But no one listens when Killer tries to explain. 

Electra feeds him some bullshit about forgiveness and moving on. What the _fuck_? Someone DIED because of Bob, this is NOT OKAY!! WHY IS NO ONE LISTENING TO HIM???

If he’s in charge, why does it feel like nothing he does ever makes a difference?

***

When Sandman shows up at his door, Killer instinctively shies away. He almost shuts the door, but Sandman pushes his way in, taking a deep breath and facing Killer.

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

Killer blinks. 

“I was a dick,” Sandman says. He looks nervous. “I never should’ve said… y’know. I shouldn’t have gone there, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of it. Benzedrine finally talked some sense into me, I guess. I’ve been a total asshole.”

“Yeah,” Killer says slowly. “Yeah, you really have.”

Sandman’s apology seems genuine, and Killer is tempted to accept it on the spot. But he’s spent so much time worrying about losing Sandman, feeling guilty for hurting him, feeling hurt by him… there’s a lot of negative stuff there.

It suddenly occurs to him that he has the right to be pissed off.

Sandman was fucking _terrible_ to him. He’d be justified in turning him away. After all the things Sandman said, it might even be expected.

But the thing is… he doesn’t want to. 

Sandman might have acted shitty, but so did Killer. They’re very alike, the two of them. They’re just trying to find their way through a world that keeps changing the game. 

Killer doesn’t want to lose his friendship over this. 

“I’m sorry,” Sandman says again, and this time, he sounds defeated. He steps toward the door, but Killer touches his shoulder lightly. 

“I am too,” he says. “I can… Well, it’s been a while, and nothing bad’s happened. I think we can figure out a different system for Benzedrine.”

Sandman gives him a tentative smile. “Yeah?” Killer nods, and it turns into a grin. “Cool.” He backs away from the door again and sits on Killer’s desk. He looks at the floor for a while, smiling to himself, then takes on a more serious expression and looks up at Killer. “I don’t think you’re a bad leader, you know.”

Killer winces. “Forgiveness is good, but I don’t know if lying’s necessary.”

“No, I’m serious,” Sandman insists. “You were just trying to protect everyone. It was like… like back in the Third Eye, when I had to leave Ryan. I was trying to do what was best for everyone, but I still hurt you.”

Killer nods. He had been pissed at Sandman for a long time after that, but he’d eventually seen the logic in it. He’s glad that Sandman can come to the same conclusion. But… 

“I’m still stepping down,” he says. “I think I’m gonna do it soon, too. I don’t have to be in charge of the faction to save Ryan.”

Sandman nods. “I thought you might. Do you have somebody in mind to replace you?”

“Yeah. I’m thinkin’ Brobeck, he’s got his head on straight. It’d be good for this place to have a leader who’s mentally stable for once.” Killer allows himself a small smile. 

“This job’s taken a lot of of you,” Sandman says. It’s a statement, not a question. Killer can’t deny it, and Sandman must be able to tell, because his expression softens. “Brendon, are you okay?”

“No,” Killer says truthfully. 

Sandman scoots over a little on the desk.

Killer sits down next to him and leans against his shoulder, sighing. “It’s good to have you back, man.”

“Same to you.” Sandman goes quiet for a while. “You ever think about taking a break?”

“What kind of break?”

“Y’know, like… Doing something for fun. Going somewhere. Taking some time away from it all.” His expression is wistful, and after years of learning to read him, Killer knows exactly what he’s talking about. 

“You want to go to the desert,” he says. Sandman nods. 

“What do you think?”

Killer thinks it over. He doesn’t like the idea of leaving while Ryan is still trapped, and the desert hasn’t truly been his home since he was a child, but… he _does_ need a break, and the killjoys would certainly appreciate it.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we should do it.”

***

Killer doesn’t think he’s ever been happier than he is on the day he gets Ryan back.

It’s an exhausting mission - he manages to get himself shot in the arm, and it burns every time he moves, but Blurryface patches him up quickly enough. He doesn’t really notice it, anyway. He’s too busy drinking in the sight of Ryan. 

He’s no less beautiful than he used to be.

Everyone gives him weird looks, which Killer doesn’t like. Ryan isn’t crazy. If you actually pay attention, he’s easy enough to understand. (Maybe Killer just understands him because they know each other so well, but that doesn’t matter! He’s just another human being for christ’s sake, stop staring at him!!)

After a few days in the compound, Killer knows they have to leave.

It’s not just the staring. Ryan isn’t meant to be here - this new environment is confusing him, and when he gets confused, he gets upset. Killer doesn’t like seeing him upset. 

So he decides to take Ryan out to the desert and never come back.

After that, things get easier. Ryan fluctuates between periods of confusion and clarity. Sometimes, he forgets he ever went to Battery City, and it’s like he’s a seventeen-year-old killjoy again, innocent and happy and surprisingly normal. That’s usually when he’s most lucid. Then, other times, it’s like he’s back in the Third Eye again, swimming through hazy memories and old poetry. Those are the worst times. He doesn’t really have a solid sense of where - or who - he is. It’s hard, but Killer always helps him through it.

And then, there are the rarest days, when Ryan remembers all of it. The desert, the city, the Third Eye; his rescue. Sometimes those are good days, sometimes not. It varies. Killer has learned to expect the unexpected. 

His life with Ryan is not what he’s always imagined, but it’s what he’s always wanted. He’s _happy_ for the first time in years.

And he stops going by Killer King.

Golden Sunshine, Killer King… two names he feels he’s outgrown. If he’s truly starting over, he figures it’s best to return to the beginning. 

He’s just Brendon now.

***

“Brendon?” Ryan yells from the kitchen. “The fridge broke!”

“It’s always something,” Brendon mutters. Across the room, Sandman cracks up. 

Ryan appears in the doorway with three soda cans. He gives one to Sandman and Brendon each, then pops his open and takes a sip. Brendon’s is a little flat, but it’s not bad by desert standards. 

“So,” Sandman says cautiously. Ryan is fussing with the record player, his back turned to them. “How are things?” He tilts his head toward Ryan a bit.

“They’re good,” Brendon says with a smile. “Getting better, at least.”

“The fridge just broke,” says Ryan, glancing over his shoulder. “You call that getting better?”

“Things are good when shit _isn’t_ breaking,” Brendon corrects himself. 

“When isn’t shit breaking?” Ryan says disdainfully. He pokes at the record player. “See, I can’t even make this thing work. It’s busted.”

“Here, let me try.” Brendon gets up and adjusts the tonearm. With the flick of a switch, it settles against the vinyl record and starts to play. A familiar melody blares out, and Sandman grins. 

“Is this fuckin’ Take This To Your Grave?” he asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious. “Dude! Where the hell did you get a hold of this?”

“Don’t you remember when I was a bird and you were a map?” Ryan asks. He doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss with what he’s just said, but Sandman raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ve had it since I was a kid,” Brendon explains. 

“You seriously kept it for that long?” Sandman asked, impressed. “I’m surprised it’s not worn out by now.”

“Well, I haven’t always had a way to play it. There aren’t many stereos in Bat City.”

“True,” Sandman admits. “I’m glad you have it, though. That’s cool… I might be able to dig up an old copy of Fever if I tried; you think I should give it a shot?”

Brendon glances over at Ryan, who is grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah, I think that’d be good.” 

Sandman gives him a knowing smile. 

Later, on his way out, he stops Brendon in the door. “Things seem good,” he says. “I’m glad. I was kinda worried when you guys left, but it looks like everything’s working out, huh?”

Brendon nods. “It’s not perfect, but it’s enough.”

It’s more than he’s ever had before.

***

Sleeping next to Ryan is difficult. He mumbles constantly, he fidgets, and he’ll cling onto any nearby body with a grip that’s gentle but unbreakable. And that’s on his good nights. On the bad ones, he’ll sleep-walk, pacing for hours until he finally collapses back into bed. Then, on the _really_ bad ones, he’ll grab onto Brendon in the middle of the night, eyes wide and filled with tears, begging to know what’s real. Talking him down isn’t an easy task.

But Brendon wouldn’t spend his time any other way. 

Ryan’s bad nights still outnumber his good ones by a wide margin, but the fact that he has good nights at all is a mark of his recovery. The others can say what they want; Brendon isn’t ever giving up on him. Not when they spent so much time apart. Not when Ryan smiles, and Brendon can see traces of the old light in his eyes. Ryan isn’t gone. He’s just changed.

Seeing him still feels like a gift. Brendon can remember every miserable night he’d spent back in the desert after Ryan had been kidnapped, and every night in the city, too. He’d spent so much time thinking he would never see Ryan again. But here he is, smiling, laughing; not quite the same, but _there_.

“Brendon?” Ryan says sleepily. “You awake?” He’s curled up against Brendon, his head resting on Brendon’s chest. 

“Yeah,” Brendon says, stroking Ryan’s hair. “What’s up?”

“If the world were ending, would you kiss me or just leave me?”

Brendon brushes Ryan’s bangs back across his forehead. He has that far-off look in his eyes, the one that says he isn’t all there. Talking sense to him won’t do any good.

“Who says the world hasn’t already ended?” Brendon asks, leaning down to kiss Ryan just beneath his eyes. “Maybe this is all just an elaborate charade. Maybe we’ve been dead all along, drifting through a dream we think is reality.”

Sometimes, trying to get Ryan to understand the world is too difficult a task for Brendon to take on. Sometimes, Ryan doesn’t need an explanation of where he is and how he got there. He just needs to understand the most basic concepts. 

“No matter what happens, I’ll still be right here,” Brendon whispers. That’s the most important of all.

Ryan hums quietly. “You’ll be right here… And me, too, I’ll be here. You don’t have to worry.” He looks up at Brendon. Having Ryan’s gaze turned on you is like being turned inside out; it feels like he can look right through you and suddenly know you better than you know yourself. “We’re still the same.”

“Yeah, we are,” Brendon agrees. Because, truthfully, they are. So what if Ryan’s mind is more abstract than concrete? He’s still Ryan, and Brendon is, well, still Brendon. They’ve both been through some shit, but they’ve made it out together. 

Ryan sighs contentedly and nestles himself into Brendon’s side. His eyes drift shut, and he goes quiet. After a while, his breathing begins to slow, a peaceful rhythm against Brendon’s chest. Brendon watches him sleep. For once, not a single scrap of guilt over Ryan’s condition crosses his mind. 

Ryan’s okay.

They’re okay.

“I’m useless searching in the cupboards,” Ryan sighs. 

Brendon smiles. “Then look somewhere else, doofus.”

The problem with how most people treat Ryan is that they treat his visions as if they aren’t real. That isn’t necessarily true. Ryan has a strange way of seeing the world, but just because no one else shares it doesn’t make it any less real to him. You can’t engage him by trying to tell him he’s hallucinating. To him, that wouldn’t make sense. It would feel like a lie, because it goes against everything he knows to be true.

You have to allow yourself to dip into his nonsensical world. 

“Everything you have’s on your back,” Ryan mumbles, sounding satisfied. A tiny smile plays at his lips as he lapses back into silence.

“I love you, you nutjob,” Brendon whispers. 

“It feels good to feel this way,” Ryan mumbles in response. “Yeah? No… _I_ know what I mean.” His brow furrows, and he opens his mouth to try again, but Brendon lays his finger over it. 

“I know what you mean, too. It’s okay.”

“Northern downpour sends its love,” Ryan murmurs against his finger. 

Brendon laughs. “Good enough. Now go to sleep, stupid. We’re going to a show tomorrow, I don’t want you passing out on me.”

Brendon lays his head back down against the pillow, wrapping his arms around Ryan and holding him close. 

Brendon might affectionately call Ryan crazy, but he knows he isn’t. He’s just gliding through life on a different wavelength, one filled with poetry and whimsy and questions, endless questions. Brendon will hold his hand through the entire ride. He’ll always be there to provide answers, and to revel in the fact that they don’t need to make sense. Ryan doesn’t need him to know everything. It’s a wonderful relief; a release, somehow. Being around him feels like a weight has been lifted from Brendon’s shoulders. 

They’re both beautifully fucked up, and somehow, their broken edges fit together perfectly.

**Author's Note:**

> i do believe this is the last work in descendverse. it's been fun, y'all! thank you so much for reading!! <3


End file.
